


sharing is caring

by Prim_the_Amazing



Series: RVB Fluff Week [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, M/M, Mind Meld, Touch-Starved, but only mentioned, rated teen bc tucker is a horny fuck and sex is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 03:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: Church sinks into Tucker’s mind, and they… mix. It’s hard to put into words. They’re still two people, but Tucker’s thoughts ring as clearly as his own. Every movement is cooperative, or else they’re sent stumbling clumsily to the floor. They get the hang of it pretty quickly. One heartbeat, two lungs, agreeing with constant minute impulses to move in a certain way-- it all feels so natural so quickly.Church doesn’t care what Tucker thinks; this definitely shouldn’t be done in public.What people don’t know won’t hurt them, Tucker thinks, along with a vague image of someone wearing bondage rope underneath their clothes.Church really wishes he could smack him.-Tucker shares his body with Church so that they can get rid of his little problem with touch starvation.





	sharing is caring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aryashi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryashi/gifts).



> Prompt: Epsilon and Tucker endeavoring to solve the touch starved issue because I need more of that in my life!!!

Church starts spending more time in Tucker’s implants instead of constantly hanging out in Carolina’s. 

“Should I be jealous?” she asks, eyebrow raised, a crooked joking grin on her face. 

“Hell yeah you should, we’re having freaky AI sex,” Tucker answers braggily, oblivious to the fact that he is talking to Church’s  _ fucking sister.  _

Church and Carolina both make simultaneous noises of alarmed disgust, and Tucker rolls his eyes and scoffs at them for being prudes.

* * *

 

“Speaking of freaky AI sex,” Tucker says less than an hour later, thankfully after Carolina’s left to go and train or maybe actually do something that doesn’t somehow count as work for once. 

“We did it, like, two hours ago,” he says, incredulous and exasperated and not at all hiding flustered feelings at the memories or excitement at the potential for more so soon. Tucker’s the pervert with sex on his mind 24/7, and Church is  _ not _ going to let himself be infected just because he’s currently residing inside said mind. He has self control. The ability to think  _ without  _ a penis. He’s not going to shamelessly trample all over his pride (and all of the insults over what a horndog Tucker is that he’s dealt over the years that would retroactively turn him into a complete hypocrite) just because of--

“The touching thing,” Tucker says, and Church swears to god that his code stutters for a moment. He hasn’t synced up enough with Tucker for him to be able to just read his thoughts like that yet-- “We should, like, maybe talk about it? Or something? I guess?” 

“The touching thing,” he repeats, for lack of anything better to say. How much does Tucker know? How does he know  _ anything?  _ He hasn’t even told Carolina. 

“Y’know,” Tucker awkwardly but determinedly goes on, poorly going for casual as if it’ll make the painful situation any better, “how you really…  _ really  _ like it when you get to feel being touched. Because you almost never get it otherwise.” 

So he knows basically everything, then. He doesn’t like that, something in the back of his mind going  _ needy needy needy.  _

“And how the fuck did you come to that stunning conclusion?” he demands, as if it isn’t the total and whole truth. 

“... You know I can feel you when you get all shaky and teary when I touch you-- me-- us when we’re sharing my senses, right? Fuck this is kinda confusing to talk about.” 

Church thinks about the lump that grew in his throat as he felt Tucker’s hand slide down his own skin, the way his eyes burned at being able to burn, at _ touching _ . Of fucking course Tucker knows. Of course. 

“Shut up,” he says. 

“No, dude, it’s fine, I’m not gonna make fun of you.” 

Church seethes, embarrassed and angry and something else as Tucker continues not to crack a joke about it. 

“It’s just a  _ thing,” _ he says. “It’s just a dumb thing, and it’s gonna stop soon.” 

“Right, yeah! The more you touch people the faster you’re gonna be fine again. It doesn’t have to be a big thing.” 

“... Are you angling for  _ more _ sex, because--” he’s not opposed to it but the idea of Tucker realizing Church has some weird Touching Thing and immediately jumping to that is so typical and  _ exasperating.  _

“No, dude!” Tucker says indignantly, and then he laughs a little. “Not even I could meet that kind of quota. I’ve got a  _ job, _ y’know. Other responsibilities.” 

“So what the hell are you suggesting?” 

“Just meld yourself so you feel what I feel when we aren’t having sex. I get a pretty decent amount of casual touching in in a day, how about you get yourself a slice of that sweet platonic action?” 

Church sits there in the back of Tucker’s head for a moment, silent. 

“Well?” Tucker prompts him. 

“You want to do that.” That being mind melding until they almost become one, their senses the same, the body theirs, their thoughts slipping into each other’s heads because the barriers are thinning, thinning. “In _ public.”  _

“Hey, we’re writing the book on human-AI sex here. It’s only inherently dirty if we make it so.” 

He’s seriously having a hard time imagining doing that in front of other people. But. Someone touching him. Not just Tucker rubbing his own thumb over his own lips and sharing the sensation, but an  _ entirely separate  _ entity touching them, skin on skin. He buzzes at the thought, circuits heating up. 

“Just. A little,” he grants, caving. 

Tucker grins. “Cool.”

* * *

 

Church sinks into Tucker’s mind, and they… mix. It’s hard to put into words. They’re still two people, but Tucker’s thoughts ring as clearly as his own. Every movement is cooperative, or else they’re sent stumbling clumsily to the floor. They get the hang of it pretty quickly. One heartbeat, two lungs, agreeing with constant minute impulses to move in a certain way-- it all feels so natural so quickly. 

Church doesn’t care what Tucker thinks; this definitely shouldn’t be done in public. 

_ What people don’t know won’t hurt them,  _ Tucker thinks, along with a vague image of someone wearing bondage rope underneath their clothes. 

Church really wishes he could smack him. 

They walk past the cafeteria, the scent of mediocre stew hits their nose, and Church experiences hunger so intense it’s almost lust. They pivot on their heel into the cafeteria without a thought. 

Church can’t remember the last time he had food, and to be perfectly honest the memory would probably be fabricated anyways. They line up in a daze, swallowing excess saliva. The cafeteria worker, a young woman probably taken off the field after she’d been paralyzed from the waist down, ladles an unappetizing looking lump of… vague brown stuff, into their bowl. Tucker reaches up to their face and wipes away a bit of drool for them. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles as they make their way to a seat, his eyes trained with laser focus on the food, occasionally bumping into people's shoulders as they walk. “I just started feeling  _ really  _ hungry.” 

“Makes sense,” Tucker replies. “We haven’t ever really done this around food before. Man, I should feed you strawberries or some shit, that’d be sexy, I’m sure Donut could hook us up.” 

They plop down into a seat and Church promptly shoves a spoonful of the stew (gruel?) into his mouth. His eyes rolls into the back of their head, eyelids falling shut, a closed mouthed moan escaping him without thought. 

Church is pretty sure that if Tucker actually got him  _ strawberries _ that he’d just shove them all into his mouth at once. 

“Is someone giving you a blowjob underneath the table?” someone asks, and Tucker opens their eyes to see Grif raising an eyebrow at them across the table, putting down his own tray. 

“Jush hungry,” Tucker slurs as Church puts another spoonful in their mouth. He  _ really  _ can’t resist. It’s just so indescribably _ good.  _

“Uh huh,” Grif says, but then he decides that eating is clearly more interesting than this discussion, and Church honestly can’t agree more. 

He scrapes their bowl clean, and actually considers licking off what remains. 

_ What the fuck Church, no,  _ Tucker thinks, and Church sighs through their nose. He  _ supposes  _ he has a point. Ugh. 

“Well,” Grif says, and they look up to see him put his bowl back down on his tray, licked clean. Church can almost admire that shamelessness at the moment. Almost. “This was actually a pretty good talk, Tucker. Keep it up.” 

He stands up. 

“Fuck off,” Tucker replies lightly. 

Grif snorts, and on his way past them he casually claps his hand onto their shoulder. Church bites their tongue. He walks away without noticing how they’ve frozen up entirely where they sit. 

The small patch of skin one of Grif’s fingers had managed to brush against tingles, the warmth passed through Tucker’s thin t shirt lingers. 

Church swallows dryly. 

“So,” Tucker says, and he sounds like he needs to clear his throat, “how’s that for casual platonic physical affection? Impressive, I know. That’s basically every day for me.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Church says, and Tucker doesn’t try and stop him from resting their head face down on the table top.

* * *

 

They go looking for one person in particular, after that. Neither of them bothers to articulate it, to really consciously think about it in a way that would bring everything embarrassingly to light, considering the shared way they’re thinking right now. 

But they look for Caboose. 

It’s way harder than it should be, because Caboose is a chaos entity and doesn’t even know how to spell the word schedule. 

They run into Palomo, who Tucker dodges an arm around the shoulders with because he doesn’t want for him to get ideas and also because he’s pretty sure that if he let him he’d burst into tears in front of  _ Palomo, _ which just isn’t acceptable. Church reluctantly gets it. 

They run into Carolina, and Tucker actually slows down to talk to her. Church has ‘touched’ her before. She’s the first one he ever did the melding thing with after all, helping her stumble away from battlefields to go lie down somewhere safe and recuperate. He’d always been too overwhelmed by pain during those times though, cataloguing injuries and first aid materials and how power he could spare for the healing unit. 

“Hey,” Carolina says. “How’s your date going?” Date is said a little teasingly, but as Church thinks about it, this probably is some kind of weird ass date for them. 

“Picturesque and romantic,” Tucker replies. “I mean, where could you possibly get a steamier atmosphere than a rundown Chorus military base? Totally unrelated, but did someone kill the janitor?” 

Carolina snorts. “No, it’s just that it’s Gold Team turn to clean up. Grif’ll let them halfass anything.” 

“Well, are you gonna kick them in their half asses or what?” Church asks through Tucker. 

“If they don’t clean up the bathroom on my floor by this afternoon, yes.” 

Tucker grins crookedly. “That’s what I like to hear.” And then he casually holds out his hand for a fist bump. 

Carolina grins back, surprised but happy, and fist bumps him back, only a little awkwardly. 

“I’ll leave you two to it then,” she says, and leaves, and Church is left brushing the fingers of their left hand over the fingers of their right hand, right over the spot where she touched them. He’s touched his sister. Finally, really touched her. 

_ Don’t cry in the hallway,  _ he tells himself. 

“Eh, I don’t mind,” Tucker says, and their voice sounds a little bit unsteady. “Chicks love sensitive guys.” 

Church does  _ not _ cry in the hallway, but he does duck into a closet for a few minutes. Being in a relationship is all about showing a person the most embarrassing parts of yourself, apparently.

* * *

 

Caboose finds them. Church is on the verge of giving up and just hacking the PA system to hail him, and then there he is, showing up out of nowhere covered in grass stains, hair ruffled and smile big. 

“Tucker!” Caboose says. “Carolina said you have Church! You had him last week. No fair.” He pouts. 

“It’s not like you have a fucking timeshare on me,” Church snaps. 

“Church said sharing is caring!” Caboose protests. 

They blink a little. Oh, right. Tucker clears their throat. 

“You tell him,” Tucker mumbles out the side of their mouth. 

_ “Fine,” _ Church grits back. 

“What?” Caboose asks, looking incredibly confused. 

“Uh, Caboose,” Church says. “It’s me, Church. I’ve merged Tucker and mine’s consciousnesses to the point that we share neurological--”

Caboose’s eyes glaze over. 

“I’ve possessed Tucker,” he says instead. 

“Oh!” Caboose exclaims. “Church! Why didn’t you say so!?” 

“I just did--GUH!” 

His feet are lifted off of the floor, his arms trapped to his sides, ribs creaking, breath whooshing out of him, his face shoved into Caboose’s shoulder. It’s warm and tight and too much too suddenly. 

It’s a classic Caboose hug. 

“I’ve missed you so much since this morning!” he booms, and twirls them around. 

“Caboose--gentle--” he wheezes, and really, it’s as much a part of any of Caboose’s hugs as the way he smells and feels and laughs are. 

“Did you miss me too?” The hug loosens just enough to be bearable. 

He wishes he had a firearm he could shoot wildly into the air to distract from the question. 

“Fuck off!” he snaps reflexively. And then, his mouth (their mouth, Tucker’s mouth) moving without his permission, “Maybe a little. Dumbass.” 

“I knew it!” Caboose cheers, and lets him down to breathe and gasp and hastily wipe at his eyes before anyone sees. “I knew you missed me.” 

Church hides their face in Caboose’s chest to hide and grumbles. 

_ You’re welcome, asshole,  _ Tucker thinks smugly, fondly. 

Being in a relationship is so  _ embarrassing.  _


End file.
